House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(98)

“She should’ve killed Dargento instead of sacrifice herself. Sacrificing is coward way out.”

My head rears back. “That woman died because of me. For me. She was not a coward.”

Aoife’s mouth puckers. Clearly, she doesn’t share my opinion, but she’s gracious enough not to debate this further.

“I was on my way to find Phoebus.” I stare into the hallway beyond her. “Do you know where he might be?”

She looks toward my bedroom windows, at the quickly darkening sky. “At this hour, you probably find him in Baths.”

I frown. “And you know Phoebus’s bathing schedule, how?”

“The Baths are public hot-water pools. You not heard of them?”

“No.”

“I heading back to my room. They’re on way. I show you.”

As we walk side by side, Aoife is uncharacteristically quiet, but so am I, both of us reliving our shared time in the Fae lands. At some point, she nods to an archway that is extra-wide as though built to accommodate a soaring Crow. Perhaps that was the intent of the architect who built this kingdom in the clouds.

“Take stairs down, and you find Baths.”

As she walks away, I call out, “When’s our next lesson?”

“You want lessons still?”

“Absolutely.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow sounds perfect.” Even though I’m a little down, I wrangle my lips into a smile, which I keep in place until she turns the corner.

Once she’s gone, I pluck up my skirt and start down the stairs. It takes almost five full minutes to reach a grotto heaving with steam, chatter, and many, many naked bodies.

It is both disconcerting and mesmerizing. Sure, most Crows are waist-deep in water, but many are lounging around the many basins, just yakking it up—naked.

Does Lorcan hang around here also?

I stare around the pools for a tall blond with pointy ears. Phoebus should be easy enough to spot, what with his light-colored mane, but it’s dark and there are many pools and many large rock formations separating them.

The noise level suddenly plummets, and I realize why when hundreds of eyes turn toward me. I take a minuscule step back, deciding it best to wait for Phoebus where people are clothed, but then I see him, and I stop retreating because the look he casts me . . .

It shatters my heart.





Forty-Eight





Phoebus’s beautiful face is warped in anger, dejection, and disappointment. All feelings I put there. All feelings I was expecting, yet the sight of them isn’t any less jarring.

I plow through the steam to reach where he stands by the wall with a towel slung around his neck.

“You’re back,” he says, and his tone is so flat that it makes me want to cry.

“I’m so sorry, Pheebs, but I was scared.”

He folds his arms in front of his bare torso. “So you shipped me back without my consent?”

“You were safer here.”

“Not your decision to make, Fallon. Not. Your. Decision.”

“I know.” I push my hair back, but the humidity makes it cling to my cheeks. “And I feel horrid.”

“If you’d felt horrid, you would’ve returned sooner and apologized.”

“I was trying to find Meriam.”

He turns. “Not interested in your excuses.”

I try to circle him without getting blasted by the ropes of water jetting from the wall. “Pheebs, please forgive me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m your oldest friend.”

“I’ve made many old friends. Centuries old, for that matter.”

“I meant our friendship is old, not—”

“I know what you meant. Still not interested. Go back to your other old friends, none of whom you sent back to this mountaintop.”

“Pheebs.”

“Don’t Pheebs-me.” He raises his face and shuts his eyes, letting the water sluice over his clasped lids and rigid jaw.

My pulse quickens. I deserve his anger, but I refuse to let it fester. They say actions speak louder than words, so I step behind him and hug him, pressing my cheek against his shoulder blade.

I hope my hug will clang through him. “I love you and will forever shorten your name.”

He doesn’t toss off my arms. I take it as a good sign.

“Please find it in your squishy heart to forgive your favorite maiden.”

“Maiden?” He grunts. “You’re almost a doxy.”

I pinch one of his nipples.

“I like my nipples pinched, even though I prefer when they’re pinched by much larger hands.”

I wrinkle my nose and laugh, but then I stop laughing and just keep hugging him. “I love you, Pheebs. I love you so much.”

A sigh lifts his hard chest and then one soft hand lands on my forearm and squeezes it.

“Say you forgive me?”

Slowly he turns in my arms and cups either side of my face. “I love you too, Picolina. As for my forgiveness, you— Actually . . .” His mouth curves with a devious smile. “You’re going to have to grovel. A lot.”

My heart slow-twirls—two-parts relieved and one-part alarmed.